


In Search of (Bucky, Family, Home)

by Mystrana



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Angst, Art by decidedlyartsy, Canon divergent after that, Gen, can be read as gen or pre-slash, catws compliant, lil’ bit of a road trip, mention of previous Peggy/Steve, really I’m just here to give Steve some good old fashioned finding Bucky angst with a hopeful ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 08:28:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mystrana/pseuds/Mystrana
Summary: A week following the events of CATWS, Steve recruits Natasha and Sam to help find Bucky.Sam raised an eyebrow. “Do we need to recap again? You were shot three times, beaten near to death by an enhanced super soldier with a metal arm and then almost drowned. Yeah, your ass is going to need a few more days of healing time.”





	In Search of (Bucky, Family, Home)

**Author's Note:**

> Created for the 2018 Captain America Reverse Big Bang!
> 
> I was lucky enough to pick up this beautiful portrait of Steve as a pinch hit! It had an angsty weight to it that I just adored. 
> 
> Thank you to the artist, [Decidedlyartsy](http://decidedlyartsy.tumblr.com/), for creating this art and brainstorming ideas with me!  
> Thank you to[ iamagentcoop ](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentCoop/pseuds/AgentCoop)for the beta! Any mistakes left I claim as my own. ;p
> 
> Please enjoy! :D

“You’d think after a week, I’d be in better shape than this,” Steve grumbled. He steadied his feet on the floor and rose from the bed with slow, tentative movements. 

His whole body ached, from the nagging, sharp pain in his shoulder to the fire that radiated down his legs. Though the wounds on his face had finally closed up, there was still a pull in his jaw whenever he spoke. “Whole point of the serum, right? Superhuman strength, superhuman healing.”

Sam raised an eyebrow. “No, no. Let me recap it for you. Again. You were shot three times, beaten near to death by an enhanced super soldier  _ with a metal arm _ and then almost drowned. Yeah, your superhuman ass is going to need a few more days of healing time.”

Steve attempted a grin, and winced when that pulled at the almost healed wound on his chin. “Yeah. Ok. You might be onto something.” 

He glanced around the room, a comfortable bedroom in his new apartment in the Avenger’s Tower. (“You can call me for help sooner next time, Cap,” Tony had said with an eye roll that was truly a full body experience.) His shield leaned against the wall next to the head of the bed, only a fingertip away.

As he glanced at his shield, the night he had chased the Winter Soldier --  _ Bucky _ \-- on the roofs came rushing back to him, something just a little stronger than a memory. Steve turned to Sam. “He’s out there. And every moment I stay out of commision is a moment I’m not looking for him.”

Sam shook his head, but he didn’t disagree. He followed Steve to the kitchen, and refrained from commenting on Steve’s slow pace. Steve got two cups down from the cupboard and filled them, sliding one over to Sam as he sat down at the kitchen table. 

“He tried to kill you,” Sam said when Steve looked at him for a response.

Steve attempted a shrug, his shoulders stiff. “That was different. You could have seen it if you were there. The way his eyes changed. His whole body, his demeanor. He remembered where he was. Who he was.”

“And he didn’t kill you to finish his mission. Just almost. I know, Steve. Another few days isn’t going to change anything.” Sam left the part unspoken where Steve should be in top fighting condition in case Bucky had stopped being himself again when they found him. 

There was a knock on the door, and Steve got up from the kitchen chair just as slowly as he had the bed. He walked the space of the living room at a pace that felt like he was trapped in syrup. When he opened the door, Tony bustled in.

“Glad to see you’re looking better, Cap.” Tony waved to Sam, and Sam nodded a hello. “I don’t expect you to say yes if you’re not feeling up to it, but Pepper wanted me to come and invite you to dinner tonight.”

Tony spoke quickly and didn’t quite make eye contact as he stopped halfway in the living room. Steve put a hand on his shoulder. 

“Look.” Steve tried a small smile. It didn’t pull at his jaw too badly. “I really am sorry about not calling you, about not calling any of the others.”   
  
“He barely had time to come knocking on my door, let alone wait for the three hour express train to bring your pompous self,” Sam began.

Tony raised an eyebrow as he cut Sam off. “First of all, when they let me drive, it’s two hours. And second, -”

“Forget it, you guys. My apartment, my rules. And my rule is, no fighting.” Steve’s legs hurt and the couch was the closest piece of furniture, so he pretended like he had been planning on sitting down the whole while. The cushions were blessedly firm underneath him. 

His legs hurt more than they had any right to, but Sam was right. He had been beaten up and shot. It was going to hurt for a few more days. He might as well stop getting in the way of the healing. Steve put his feet up on the couch. 

From the kitchen table, Sam actually clapped. “I never thought I’d see the day. Steve Rogers, taking care of himself.” 

“Ah, shove off,” Steve grumbled. “I’ll come to dinner Tony. I’d love to.”

“You’re invited too, Sam,” Tony added.

The silence that filled the air might have been awkward for Tony and Sam, but Steve found himself slipping into thoughts of Bucky. Bucky was alive. That piece of information had been the easiest to process; if Steve was alive, maybe Bucky could be alive. But what price had Bucky paid?

Those worries seemed to lodge themselves under Steve’s chest, wrapping tendrils of worry around his lungs and digging a pit in his stomach. Bucky --  _ the Winter Soldier _ \-- had been implicated in many,  _ many _ murders. 

Steve needed to find him, needed to make sure Bucky knew it wasn’t his fault.

He wasn’t going to do that sitting around with his feet propped up. With a grunt of effort, Steve swung his legs down from the couch and got up. “I’m gonna take a shower before I head up to your place. That cool, Tony?”

Steve looked up to see Sam and Tony silently glaring at each other. As one, they dropped the glare and turned to Steve. He could see the moment they accepted him as their mutual target and braced himself for whatever they could come up with.

“Are you cleared to shower?” Tony asked.

“Do you need me to get you a shower chair?” Sam kept his face perfectly serious except for the twitch of a smile on the corner of his lips. 

“I’m 90, not dead,” Steve deadpanned, flicking them off as he limped by.

“Call JARVIS if you fall and can’t get back up.” Tony smirked, but just a little. 

Steve let him have the moment. If it helped Tony get it out of his system faster so he’d help Steve find Bucky, it was worth it.

 

*

 

“You’re looking much better tonight, Steve.” Pepper offered him the salad and Steve took the bowl, portioning out a heap of greens on his place. The dressing she handed over next smelled delicious.

“Thanks. I’m feeling much better too.” He had to admit that dinner with friends (friends currently defined as people who weren’t trying to kill him) felt better than sitting alone in his apartment. Not that Sam had left him alone in his apartment much over the past week. 

Steve passed the salad bowl to Sam, who took it and thanked Pepper for putting on a lovely dinner. The topics turned to light, benign nothingness, and Steve started to tune it out. The short bit of rest he’d had that afternoon had helped ease the firey pain in his legs. A step closer to fighting shape meant a step closer to looking for Bucky. 

“Earth to Steve Rogers.” Tony’s voice cut through Steve’s thoughts, and Steve blinked across the table.

“Yes?”

“You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.” Tony crossed his arms over his chest and pursed his lips. “I don’t know if I care to repeat myself.”

“Sorry.” Steve offered the apology with as much sincerity as he could manage. Backed by a smile without a flinch of pain, it was rather effective.

“Oh alright.” Tony heaved a dramatic sigh, but his eyes sparkled. “I’ll repeat myself just this once. A former employee of mine got in contact with me the other day. You might know her. Natalie Rushman.”

Steve shook his head. The name was familiar in a way he couldn’t describe.

“Be fair, Tony. He’s been recuperating, not reading the internet.” Pepper’s smile was kind and not patronizing, and Steve really appreciated it.

“Being laid up in the best time to read the internet,” Tony argued, his head tilted at a  _ trust me, I know _ angle.

“It’s my understanding that you don’t really rest when you’re forced to slow down either,” Sam noted, far too neutral to be innocent.

Tony almost took the bait, but with a force of effort, turned back to Steve. “If you’ve been reading through the sorted data dump that Widow uploaded, you would know that Natalie is one of her many, many, many identities.”

“52 in all,” Sam interjected. “Not that I was looking for that, specifically or anything.” He shoved a bite of salad in his mouth.

“She wants to meet with you, Steve.” Tony glared past Sam and Pepper for ruining his dramatics and put his proverbial cards on the table. “She said she has some more information you might want. About your friend.”

Steve thought about the file Natasha had given him, the pages that he had leafed through nightly in lieu of “reading the internet” as Tony put it. If she had a lead, he had to know, and now.

“Where is she?” Steve was halfway out of his chair already. 

“Hold your horses, Cap. She’s not here yet,” Tony said. “She’ll be here bright and early tomorrow morning. So it sounds to me, and really, all of us, that you’d better get some rest tonight.”

Sam and Pepper looked expectant, so Steve said the only thing he could as they tried to surround him with compassion. “Ok. Fine. I will.”

And he did. Kind of.

He made an honest effort to sleep, trudging to his bed after dinner, climbing up on the special ordered extra firm mattress and pulling up a sheet that slid through his fingers like silk. He could fall asleep; that was no problem.

Staying asleep was the issue. Every time he drifted past the border of sleep, the nightmares emerged. He re-lived putting the Valkyrie into the ice, Peggy’s tearful voice calling for him the whole while. He woke up, tears streaming down his face, and turned to the other side of his bed. 

He fell asleep again, and now Bucky loomed over him, his fist raised and his eyes broken as he recognized Steve. Steve fell from the helicarrier, fell forever with his stomach swooping before splashing into the shockingly cold water. The water rushed into his mouth and his nose and settled in his lungs. Steve woke up shouting in his bed, gasping for air, wiping imaginary water from his face.

The _ idea  _ of sleep was appealing, but Steve was sweating and adrenaline raced through his veins. He got out of bed, yawning as he ambled to the shower. He didn’t bother to flick the bathroom lights on, just got under the cold spray and washed the salt off of his skin. 

Rinse and repeat. 

When the sun cracked through the clouds in the early morning, Steve gave up on his restless attempts at sleep. He tried to be thankful for the few hours of nightmare-less rest he’d had, and he  _ was _ thankful that his injuries had continued to heal despite the tossing and turning of the night.

Exhaustion like white noise clung to the edges of his awareness and prevented him from concentrating. He busied himself with making a simple breakfast and hoped the rising sun would help trick his mind into alertness.

He jumped at the knock at his door.

Natasha smiled her hello and pressed a thin file into his hand as she entered his apartment. “You look like crap, Rogers.”

“Thanks. You look lovely as always. What was the name? Natalie?” Steve smiled despite himself, putting the new file on top of the worn and creased file she had given him previously. “Isn’t that identity on the data upload?”

“She got married,” Natasha said with a little grin of her own, holding up her hand with a diamond ring. “New last name, new person, right?”

“You’re the expert in espionage. I defer to you.” Steve ran a finger along the new file, itching to open it. “What have you got?”

“Not a lot,” Natasha admitted, thunking into the seat across from him at the kitchen table. “Mostly reassurance for you.”

Steve opened the file to see a single grainy photograph. Bucky was dressed in a sweatshirt and a jacket and eating something. It was impossible to say what, but it didn’t much matter; he was eating  _ something. _

He tried to scoff. “I wasn’t worried.” Steve touched the picture as though he could reach into the picture and pull Bucky through.

“Right, and I’m actually Clint in disguise.” Natasha raised an eyebrow. “The guy was your best friend. I expect you think about how he’s doing every now and again. Whatever he’s up to now, he seems to be safe. And traveling. That picture was taken two days ago and I haven’t heard a whisper of him in New York since.”

Steve heard the word “traveling” and was already across the kitchen, heading into his bedroom. “I’ll grab some shirts, and we can follow him.”

“Slow down!” Natasha waved Steve back in to the kitchen, and pushed aside the photograph. There was one page of notes behind it. “This isn’t just a rush out and just find him at the nearest gas station sort of deal. I don’t know where he’s going.” At Steve’s sharp look, Natasha put her hands on her hips. “Yet.”

“But you’ll know?” Steve asked her, the longing written into every line on his face. He looked up towards the ceiling, as though he could imagine Bucky into existence right into the kitchen.

 

 

“I’m doing my best,” Natasha replied. She shoved her sheet of notes across the table to Steve. “But I need some help.”

Steve sat back down and leaned forward. They discussed everything Steve could remember about Bucky for the next two hours. And that night, when he went to bed with a tangible plan in mind and the image of Bucky safe and not starving, he slept with far fewer nightmares.

 

*

 

“So that’s it? You’re just going to leave again?” Tony looked hurt, and Steve couldn’t decide if he was playing at it or being serious.

“I’ll call if it gets to be too much to handle,” Steve promised. When that barely alleviated Tony’s disapproving frown, Steve added, “Besides, if we go storming around as a group, he’s sure to notice and go into hiding.”

Tony nodded reluctantly, but his frown eased and the lines across his forehead smoothed themselves out. 

“Besides, I like knowing that you’re here. Helping keep this old city of ours safe.” Steve smiled. It was true; he was thankful that Tony was there. 

“Best wishes, Captain.” Tony gave him a mock salute.

“At ease, soldier,” Steve replied, almost automatically. He smiled, pulling Tony in for a strong hug.

“Oh, hey, Natalie. I guess you’re not coming back to work for me yet?” Tony looked over to where Natasha and Sam were waiting for Steve. 

“Maybe in another lifetime, Mr. Stark.” Natasha shrugged. “I’ll send my resume Pepper’s way if I find myself in need of employment.”

“I’ll keep you to that,” Tony said. He paused, holding back from another sharp retort or playful snark as he put his hands on Steve’s shoulders and looked up at him. “Be safe. Anything deviates from the plan, you call. Me. Ok?”

Only when he had gotten Steve to pinky promise did Tony let them start their mission.

Per the plan, the first stop was Lewis, New York.

 

*

 

“You think he’s heading for the border?” Steve had one hand on the steering wheel, one resting on the center control, itching to use a gearbox. He was behind the wheel of an unassuming blue Toyota Corolla.

“Might be?” Natasha had her feet up on the dash, and Steve reached over to push them down. “You know him better than all of us.”

“He thinks he knows him better than all of us,” Sam corrected from his spot in the backseat. “No offense, Steve.”

Steve watched the road. There were a few other cars traveling north on I87 with them, but mostly the road just stretched on into nothingness ahead of them. “None taken.”   
  
“You’re too close to him. You want him to be your friend. But Nat? Me? We don’t have those illusions. We can make judgements with what we saw.” Sam frowned. “I don’t want you getting hurt, is what I’m trying to say.”

Steve let the silence drag on for a moment before he responded. “I know.” 

He tried to reconcile his  _ Bucky _ with  _ The Winter Soldier. _ It all blurred in his mind, images of Bucky covering him as a sniper and aiming at Natasha’s heart. One thing he knew for certain was that what Hydra had forced Bucky to do, it wasn’t his fault. Everything else could be sorted out later. First, he had to find Bucky.

“I don’t think he’ll try to go out of the country. He wouldn’t want to risk it right now.” Steve tried to pretend he was Bucky, tried to think how he would think. He might have known once, some 70 years ago. He didn’t know anymore. “Too much security right now, most likely. He’d want to wait a few weeks, maybe a month.” 

When Steve accounted for the time he’d been holed up in the hospital and in the Tower, that didn’t leave them much time to find him before their search might have to expand globally. He shook his head and kept his eyes on the road. They’d find him.

“Exit 32 in two miles,” Natasha noted as they passed the roadway sign.

Steve looked around as he made the exit and turned onto the main road of the tiny town. “There’s nothing here. A guy with a metal arm’ll stick out like a shark in a fish tank.”

“Or they won’t notice him if he passes through acting friendly and wearing a glove and a jacket.” Natasha nodded her head over to a truck stop. “Let’s stop for a bite of food.”

As they pulled into the parking lot of the diner, Sam glanced up at the sign. “That is a hell of a sign.”

“Betty Beaver’s,” Steve read as he parked the car. He raised an eyebrow at the sign, the blue lettering beside a buxom beaver in a star-spangled corset and skirt.

They headed inside, sitting down in green vinyl chairs and placing orders for lunch. The diner’s design was so familiar to Steve that it hurt in a place between his heart and his bones. He could close his eyes and open them and he would be sitting there, sharing a soda with Peggy. The thought was an odd twinge in his chest.

“Thinking about something?” Sam asked. He slid a cup of water over to Steve, who drank it gratefully.

“Too many things.” The cold water eased the sadness under his skin, replacing it with a chill.

When the waitress came back with hot plates of food, Natasha smiled up at her. “Hey. We’ve been looking for a friend of ours. He might have come through here. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes. Pretty quiet. Just passing through.”

The waitress tapped a finger to her chin. “We always get a few of those types here in the spring. Wandering through, trying to find themselves. Can’t say I can think of anyone recently, though.”

Natasha nodded. “Thanks.”

She looked so calm, but Steve’s insides were twisted. If they hadn’t seen Bucky, he might not have come around here. Or he might have gone to a different place to eat. He could be anywhere.

It felt a little like throwing a knife to hit a mosquito in the dark. Not that Steve had experience with that.

“Where do we go next?” Steve tried to keep the edge of worry out of his voice. 

Natasha waved off his concerns. “Be patient. She’s going to go to the back and mention it. Maybe someone else had seen him. If not, we comb through a few more places here.”

Steve nodded. “Right. I’m sorry.” His knee was bouncing until the whole table they were sitting at was bouncing along, the plates and silverware clattering. With an effort and a firm hand on his knee, Steve stilled his leg.

He even managed a few bites of french fries. Sam was finishing his milkshake when a different waitress came out to the table. Steve’s hopes soared.

“Bernadette went on break, I’m covering for her,” she said. “Need anything?”

Steve’s hopes crashed. “No, I think we’re good. Just the check.”

The new waitress nodded, popping her gum. “I heard you guys were looking for someone.” She waited.

Steve attempted to shake his head without being too damn vigorous. He half-succeeded.

The waitress grinned, clearly amused. “Yeah, I mighta saw him the other day. He a friend of yours?”

Steve didn’t trust his voice to work, so he nodded again and stayed silent. He said a quiet prayer when Natasha picked up the slack for him.

“Yeah. We were just worried about him. It’s such a relief to hear he’s just taking another one of his road trips.” Natasha smiled, all innocent relief and good cheer. “Did he happen to say where he was going next?”

The waitress laughed. “He hardly said a word besides his order, hon. If he’s not going to tell his friends, what’s he gonna tell me for?”

Steve thanked her, paid the tab, and headed outside. Sam followed, but Natasha held back a second.

“You guys get some gas. I’ve gotta use the restroom.”

Sam looked at the dash. “This car gets pretty good mileage. Do we even need to get gas yet?”

“It can’t hurt to top her off.” Steve was already heading to the car.

By the time he had filled the tank with the eight gallons of gas they had wasted on the trip up, Natasha was back outside and smiling. She didn’t say a word until they had all gotten back in the car.

“Well, things are getting a lot more interesting, boys.” She put her feet up on the dash. “We’re going to need to head to Washington DC. Hope you brought a change of clothes.”

 

*

 

Steve drove. He kept his eyes on the road, and almost managed to keep his thoughts from spilling out like vomit. 

Almost.

“So how do you do that, anyhow, Natasha? You just turn around and then people tell you exactly what you need to know.”

Natasha eyed him, then ignored his question completely. “You keep driving this slow and we’ll never get to DC before Bucky jaunts off to his next destination.”

In lieu of a response, he pressed the gas pedal a little harder. The problem was, the road was too open, and it left him too much time to think. Gave him too much space to ruminate. Natasha and Sam were playing some version of I Spy. Sam kept trying to rope Steve in on it, but Steve couldn’t help but filter their conversations into background noise. 

Would Bucky know that Steve was trying to find him? Would Bucky have purposely told that waitress where he was going, knowing that Steve would trail after him?

Or was it just a coincidence? Was Bucky just riding the winds, searching for a home of his own? A home away from Steve. 

His chest ached. He kept driving. 

Traffic favored them -- until they hit rush hour two hours outside of DC, and the interstate turned into a parking lot.

“Hey. I tried to tell you to speed it up hours ago.” Natasha absolved herself of any blame with a shrug as she inspected her nails. “I spy something olive green.”

“We were going to have to spend a night there anyhow.” Sam attempted a consolation. “Somebody’s compact mirror two cars over to the right.”

Steve drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, watching the silver BMW in front of him try to change lanes. “Yeah. You did. We are.” 

He just wanted to see Bucky again, see if there was anything he could do to lend a hand. If there was anything Bucky needed. If maybe Bucky wanted to be friends.

Natasha and Sam switched to some sort of license plate game, and Steve’s fond smile at their antics masked the longing that had burrowed deep into his heart. Maybe Bucky wanted to leave everything from his past behind. But Steve, selfishly, saw a chance to have a friend who knew where he came from, what he’d been through.

Who understood how the world had changed around them in a way that most everyone else didn’t and couldn’t. He wanted to hold on to Bucky, and he had to hold onto the shred of hope that Bucky felt the same way.

Steve crept the car forward another inch and sighed. If this didn’t work out, if Bucky really didn’t want to see him, maybe he’d need to start asking Thor to take him to Asgard for a visit. That idea made Steve a little nauseated, because how dare he compare his 70 years in the ice and the serum in his veins to being a god? Steve was still Steve. He didn’t belong on Asgard.

He was still a kid from Brooklyn, picking fights he never seemed to win, no matter how hard he tried.

The car moved forward another half foot, a battle won, but the rush hour war far from over.

 

*

 

The spent the night in a luxurious suite. Steve had attempted to book a set of basic rooms, but the clerk had recognized him and, despite protests, given them a beautiful, two-room suite and a promise to write them down under the last name Grant.

“Ok. I wasn’t going to say anything,” Sam said as they opened the door to the suite, “but this is real nice. If we’re going to rest up before the most important day of Steve’s life tomorrow, we might as well do it in style.”

Steve couldn’t help but smile. Sam’s easygoing enthusiasm was infectious. 

Instead of cheering Steve up, though, it just translated into wanting to be prepared for tomorrow. “So what next? How do we plan where to go, when to go? It’s not like we can just stand on the corner and look for a guy who’s possibly trying to avoid m-- people.” Steve stopped himself from saying “me,” but Sam and Natasha heard the implication as surely as if he had written a five page paper on it. And added a presentation.

“I’ve got a few contacts following a few different leads,” Natasha said. “You rest, Steve. Yeah, you’re healing quick, but I’m willing to bet your head still hurts when you turn too fast.”

When Steve didn’t argue the point, Sam threw his hands in the air. “Oh, so she says one thing and you’re all, ok, I’ll get some sleep? But I spend every waking hour trying to get you to rest and you just push back? Oh, I see how it is.”

“She scares me more than you,” Steve stage-whispered to Sam, and they all laughed, Natasha’s sarcastic chuckle blending with Sam’s deep laugh. 

For just a moment, Steve saw himself making his place in the future, and it was warm and lovely. And then he remembered that Bucky was still out there and how badly he wanted to make sure he was doing ok too. That Bucky deserved to be laughing like this with his friends too.

Steve just couldn’t get past the nervous dip in his stomach when he considered the idea that the list of Bucky’s friends might never include  _ Steve _ again.

 

*

 

The next morning when Steve woke up, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up without the need to pause. Tentatively, he felt along his hip and ran his hand over his rumpled boxers. There was no twinge of pain, no fire shooting down to his toes. Steve couldn’t help the grin that followed him to the bathroom, where he took the world’s fastest shower and met Natasha and Sam for their final planning session.

“I’m going to say something,” Natasha began the conversation only after handing Steve a steaming mug of black coffee. “It’s going to sound very obvious, but I don’t want you to beat yourself up over it, ok?”

The delightful smell of a good roast wafted through the air as Steve sipped the almost too-hot coffee. It was perfect. For a moment, he was just warm enough. “Yeah, go on. I can’t feel any more concern about the situation than I do now.”

“There’s your exhibit at the Smithsonian. If I were a recently freed spy trying to remember my past...” Natasha’s gaze said the rest.

“Great.” Steve put his coffee on the table and was already across the hotel room, grabbing his coat from the closet. “Let’s go.”

Sam tapped his watch. “It doesn’t open for another hour. How about breakfast before a day long stake out?”

They decided to call up room service, and spent an hour enjoying a hot breakfast in the room while they hashed out details and contingencies. 

Steve picked at his plate; everything was delicious, but the thought of finally coming to face-to-face with Bucky -- and hopefully not having to fight him -- was starting to get to him. It was one thing to come out of the ice and learn the world had gone on for 70 years without him. It was another thing completely to learn that he still had a friend. Steve glanced at Natasha, who had a pretend stern look on her face, raising her eyebrows as she debated a point with Sam. Sam grinned and waved it off.

Steve had to smile. Yeah, he already had friends. But Bucky might remember things from decades ago, a link that they could share with each other. If he’d let Steve in.

His bite of eggs felt heavy in his throat, and Steve gulped down some cooled coffee. 

“You doing alright there?” Sam asked.

“Mostly,” Steve said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “He was my best friend growing up. I have no clue if that’s something he wants now.” Steve closed his eyes, as he re-lived one of the worst memories of his strange life. It was just as clear as the day it happened. Steve watched Bucky fall from the train in slow motion. “We never found his body. When we got down in the mountains to recover his body…” Steve took a moment, took a breath. “He wasn’t there. And I searched through the snow for hours before I let them bring me back up with promises that they’d search again in the summer.”

“And all you can think about is how it was too late.” Sam put a hand on Steve’s arm. 

Steve bowed his head. “If we could have just gotten there sooner. If I had jumped after him.” His voice came out so quiet, so heavy. “Because if he survived it, I sure as hell could have survived it.”

His words hung heavy in the room, tinting the day’s mission with the weight of his guilt.

Natasha broke the silence as she met his eyes with kindness. “Every one of us at this table would be dead if we burdened ourselves with the past. You want to atone for what you feel you missed? You need to start from now, meet him where he’s at, and go from there.”

Steve nodded, slowly. He took a deep breath. “Yes.” He glanced at the clock on the wall. “Let’s do this.”

 

*

 

The museum was huge and spread out over two floors, and there were too many entrances.

“There’s only one way in and out for the public,” Steve said as they got into position. “Honestly, I feel like he’d take that route. But we can’t be too certain.”

They settled into a patrol pattern, something that seemed as though they were simply browsing the many exhibits on display. Steve let the exhibits wash over him, the voiceovers imparting knowledge that he would have retained on any other day. Today, however, interesting history blended into the general conversations around him, and Steve walked the floors with an eye towards the exits, always scanning.

He walked for hours, moving from exhibit to exhibit as casually as he could, hands in the pockets of his faded blue jeans and a baseball cap pulled low. No one seemed to notice him, so maybe his instructions from Natasha were starting to pay off.

Sam’s voice crackled to life in his ear. “Another hour, another all clear from me.”

Then Natasha. “All clear. Wait. Hold up.”

Silence.

Steve resisted the urge to vault from the second floor down to the ground floor, to fling himself down to Natasha’s position. He sped up his walking pace just enough to get him to the staircase and was halfway down by the time Natasha spoke again.

“I’ve got eyes, Steve. He’s in here.”

Steve took the stairs like a civilian for the first half of the flight and then skipped the bottom half in a jump that had everyone turning to look at him. He knew it was ridiculous, and he managed a half-wave at everyone. “Sorry. In a hurry to see the Captain America exhibit!”

People shrugged and laughed and ignored him, and Steve speed walked as fast as he could. Yeah, he was passing through the hallway as fast as a regular person could run. He needed to tone it down. He needed to be patient, lest the surprise of him bursting into the room sent Bucky onto the defensive. 

Natasha was saying something, but Steve could only think of Bucky. He got to the exhibit, glancing around from place to place, running between the theatre showing a video of Peggy talking about him and past a display of his previous height and current height.

Turning away from the display on James Buchanan Barnes was a man, Steve’s height, wearing a heavy coat, unobtrusive gloves, and a baseball cap pulled low. He was leaving. 

Steve hesitated. Did he call his name? What if he wasn’t Bucky? What if he was?

What if Bucky started attacking him here? 

A woman was pushing a stroller past him on the left and a group of teenagers were giggling at a video.

“I can’t risk the civilians, Nat. What do I do?” Steve wanted to spring forward, grab Bucky by the arm, and never let him go.

Instead, he watched Bucky turn and start heading towards the public-use door Steve had walked by fifty-two times today. Something tore at his heart, an angry claw of the fear that this was his last chance to see Bucky. His last chance to have a friend back, to have a piece of home with him.

“Bucky?” Steve called, tentatively, tense. He started working his way through the crowd, dodging past people and strollers and exhibits. “Bucky!” he called again, louder. 

Bucky was too far ahead, didn’t see him.

“I’m heading over to intercept, Steve,” Natasha’s voice whispered in his ear.

“No,” Steve found himself saying, even as he broke into a jog down a clear stretch of hallway. “Wait. If he wants to go, we have to let him go.” Even as he got to the exit of the museum and watched Bucky stepping outside, just a few yards between them.

Steve couldn’t help himself. He sucked in a breath and called firmly. “Bucky!”

On the sidewalk ahead of him, Bucky stopped. His head cocked to the side as he slowly turned around towards Steve. Steve just started moving. He wanted to say “it’s been too long,” and “we have so much to talk about” and “I missed you.”

He didn’t say any of it. He just held out his arms, and when Bucky gave the tiniest bit of a nod, he wrapped them around Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky wound his arms around Steve’s sides and hugged back.

It was a start.

If nothing else, at least it was a start.

 

The End

**Author's Note:**

> Find us on tumblr!  
> [Mystrana](http://mystrana.tumblr.com/)  
> [Decidedlyartsy](http://decidedlyartsy.tumblr.com/)


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